Almost Pretty Perfect
by Missing Linka
Summary: The latest (not last - I'm optimistic) episode of MFMM made me so happy that I decided to write a story after not having written anything in years. It's more or less simply about the last episode with some references to earlier episodes. Of course, it's romantic. How could it be anything else!


_A/N: Well, I haven't written anything in what feels like a whole lifetime. I guess it's actually been "only" a few years, but so much has happened since the time I used to write fanfiction on an almost daily basis that I have to admit I'm scared, really scared. Also: All in all, I have spent less than four weeks in English speaking countries, therefore my English is still less than perfect. Of course, you're free to mention any mistakes if you want me to improve my English. But I've been in love with Phryne and Jack since the first time I saw them. I've been reading stories about them for months and yes, I've been watching the third season online because otherwise I would have had to wait way too long – and everyone who knows me can tell you that I'm not a patient person. On Saturday, I awoke in the morning and spent about two hours thinking about how their story could continue. Therefore, my head is filled with really crazy, silly and of course pretty romantic ideas, but I simply don't know how many of those ideas will get realized due to my lack of writing experience during the last couple of years and my lack of free time. I guess I will simply begin with one or two short chapters and then we'll see where this new journey will take Phryne, Jack, you and me._

 ** _Almost Pretty Perfect_**

 _This story is dedicated to my very best friend who's sadly not interested in fanfiction, but whose love story made me cry even more than Jack's and Phryne's._

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had finally kissed the Honourable Phryne Fisher. It had taken him pretty long and, like so many times before during the last couple of months, it almost hadn't happened. Had he arrived just one minute later he would have missed her and he'd probably regretted his lateness for some months to come.

Yes, he had kissed her once before, but that had only been to save her from René Dubois, or at least, he'd told himself – and her – that that had been his only reason back then. If he'd been honest, he would have had to admit that he'd enjoyed it way too much given the horrible circumstances. But no matter what had actually caused that first kiss so long ago, the kiss itself had filled his dreams ever since and he'd been dying to kiss her again, but had forbidden himself that pleasure even months after he'd finally gotten divorced from Rosie. He'd had his reasons and told himself that those reasons were logical and important ones. For example, he'd known that for her sex was important while being in a romantic relationship – or God forbid being married – was a concept she'd never really understood when it came to her own feelings and lifestyle. He, on the other hand, had only slept with one woman, his wife, and they'd stopped having sex years before she'd finally agreed to the divorce. Even as a young man, he'd never really even considered having sex with someone he wasn't married to. Therefore, it was only logical that they would never end up in bed together. Later on in his acquaintance with her, he'd realized that it would be so easy to fall into her arms (and her bed). But just like he'd told her only a few weeks earlier, he might be a liberal man, but he wasn't liberal enough to become one of those men of hers. Yes, by then, he'd admitted to himself that he'd fallen for her, that he loved her and was in love with her, but he'd been so sure that she would break his heart and that they would loose everything he cherished about their relationship. He'd remembered the days after that car crash when they hadn't been talking to each other. They'd been miserable.

But during the last weeks, maybe even ever since the arrival of her father, things had started to change between them. They'd spent even more time outside of work together, she'd touched him more and he'd seldom prevented her from touching him as he'd so often done in the past. He'd even let himself enjoy their physical closeness. And then he'd even initiated their bodies' contact. They'd been out in the night, it had been almost pitch black and they'd been searching for some piece of evidence. He could still remember each of their words.

She'd been afraid that she'd lost her father just like she'd lost Janey all those years ago, and she'd blamed herself.

"What if something happens and I never see him again?"

He'd tried to comfort her.

"Whatever happens to your father, it's not your fault. And nothing is going to happen."

They'd both know that he couldn't be sure that he was actually telling the truth.

"Perhaps he has just headed back to England after all."

A theory that wasn't very likely to be true.

"Well, if it's all expanding, England will move further away."

He might have read all that Shakespeare had ever written, but he'd also read some articles about the universe. Hence, he knew that the theory about the expanding universe wasn't about continents, but in that moment, such a silly detail wasn't that important to any of the two of them.

"But it all looks very still to me."

He knew that she needed action and adventure in her life, without it she became restless and maybe even scared because in those moments without any action she had to face her inner demons, some of them being feelings long forgotten.

"That's because you're not a telescope."

He simply couldn't see her like that. He hated it when she became desperate. So he'd simply said the first silly – and maybe slightly funny – thing that had come to his mind.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

He'd gotten the reaction he'd wished for. She'd started flirting with him.

"More like a romantic overture."

He had no idea from where he'd gotten the guts to simply say something like that. After all, they'd seldom talked about their feelings. One of them had always shied away, most of the time him. She'd looked at him like she'd never looked at him before.

"Is that the best that you can do?"

He'd realized that she'd smiled just the smallest of smiles while her eyes had remained as serious as he'd only rarely seen them. For once, she hadn't tried so simply flirt with him. She'd actually taken his words to heart.

"Would you like me to improve on it?"

He'd almost choked on those words, afraid of her answer.

"More than anything."

She'd answered without hesitation. Her words had come from her heart and his heart had almost stopped. Never before had he seen her so vulnerable and open.

On instinct, he'd reached out for her, intending to finally kiss her. But once more, fate had intervened.

The next day, they'd found her father, alive and relatively safe.

Only hours later, Hugh Collins had finally married Dot. He had to admit that Collins' bride had looked really beautiful, but the woman he was in love with had looked like a goddess. After the ceremony, she'd seen a shooting star, but he'd only had eyes for her, and when she'd told him only moments afterwards that she'd be leaving for England the next day, he'd almost failed to hear her words.

That night he'd laid in his bed, not being able to get that thought out of his head. She'd leave for England in the morning. She'd be away for months. She'd probably never return.

The next morning, after not having slept for more than a few minutes during the whole night, he'd still been debating with himself whether or not he should ask her to stay. But he'd known that he had no right to ask her, that she would probably hate him for asking such a thing of her. She would likely feel trapped and stay away for even longer if she, at all, planned on ever coming back to Australia.

In the end, he'd decided that he would simply tell her goodbye. He'd simply drive to where she and her father would start their flight. He'd wish her a save journey and maybe add a funny comment about the criminals in London – or if he was really brave he'd kiss her cheek.

But when he'd arrived at his destination, he'd seen from afar that she and her father were about to lift off. He'd stopped the car and had run to her. And she'd run to him.

After exchanging some words about her flying all over the world in that small airplane, she'd suddenly said something he would have never expected to hear.

"Come after me."

She'd said it like it was the easiest thing in the world to say.

"What did you say?"

He couldn't believe what he'd heard. He'd had to make sure.

"It's romantic overture."

She'd repeated his own words. So for once, she'd actually listened to him, said a small and very amused voice in his head.

"Say it again."

He had to hear it once more.

"Come after me, Jack Robinson."

She'd smiled at him almost child-like. He'd never seen her as innocent as in that moment. She'd seemed so carefree, as if she had not the smallest of doubt. He'd fallen even more in love with her in that moment and so it was only natural that he'd finally kissed her, simply ignoring the fact that her father was watching them and complaining about Phryne leaving him alone in the airplane.

"I always feared a man would sweep you away from me, I never thought it would be your father."

He'd finally been able to tell her about his fears because at last he'd felt safe with her. If she had no doubts, why should he have any?

"There's a whole world out there, Jack. He's the least of your worries."

He'd only been able to let her go because he knew that even the whole world could that was out there could no longer keep them apart.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had finally kissed the Honourable Phryne Fisher. It had taken him pretty long and, like so many times before during the last couple of months, it almost hadn't happened. Had he arrived just one minute later he would have missed her and he'd probably regretted his lateness for some months to come. But for once, their timing had been almost pretty perfect.

TBC?

 _A/N: My head is really way too full with ideas and thoughts. About each line they said I could write about a dozen pages about the things running through their heads (or mine). Maybe I'll simply write like 22 stories about the kiss or the almost-kiss or all their almost-kisses and their kiss. Or maybe I'd simply brush my teeth and go to bed. Noctem quietam et finem perfectum concedat nobis Dominus omnipotens._


End file.
